


massive stretch

by ymorton



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 19:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: nick / dougie b with nickharry in chapter 3. mostly silly smut, lil bit of gryles feelings.written january 2015title from the quote: "now you play a hedonistic playboy- was this a stretch of a role for you, douglas booth?" "massive stretch. MASSIVE stretch."





	1. Chapter 1

“Don’t- oh, don’t, fuck, don’t get me another drink,” Nick says, moaning, reaching out to take it. Douglas laughs, slides back into the booth, leg pressing warm against Nick’s. 

“You’re fine,” Sam says dismissively from across the table. “What’s that, your fourth? Man up, Grimshaw." 

"I’m not counting, but it’s definitely more than four,” Nick sighs. 

“Leave ‘im alone,” Douglas says, laughing. “He’s fine." 

"Yeah, be nice, Sammy,” Max laughs, not looking up from his phone. 

“You know what’d be really nice?” Nick says, gulping at his drink. Whiskey-ginger, that’s nice. Laddy. See, they’re all just lads, ladding it up in a private room at Shoreditch, drinking whiskey. Why does he only hang out with women? Boys are _fun_. Especially pretty posh ones who keep buying Nick drinks. 

“What,” Douglas sighs, long-sufferingly, blinking at Nick with those _eyelashes_. Truly obscene. 

“You- and him,” Nick says, squinting and waving one hand. “Just- put your faces next to each other for a minute." 

Max grins, dimples popping out in each well-crafted cheek. 

"You’re pissed,” Douglas laughs, not looking unhappy about it. 

“You’re the one who keeps buying me drinks. Go on, just for a second. Make a man happy. Go on, go on, cheek to cheek." 

Douglas rolls his eyes, slings his arms around Max’s shoulders, gives him a pat on the back. Max kisses him on the cheek. 

"God,” Nick says reverently, shaking his head. “Jawlines. You too, Claflin. You’re refusing to participate, but I’m giving your jawline an honorary mention anyway.”

Sam gives him a thumbs-up. 

Douglas chuckles, ducks his head, and Max gives Nick a measured look, eyes narrowing. 

“I feel used,” Douglas says, biting into his plump bottom lip sheepishly. 

“Not at all, not at all,” Nick says, pretending to cover his eyes. “I won’t even Instagram it. I just wanted to see if the world would explode." 

"Oh, c'mon, lad, you’re just making him happy,” Max says, squeezing Douglas’ shoulder. “Oi, Grimshaw, don’t cover your eyes for this.”

Nick drops his hand on command, just as Max grins wickedly at him, tips Douglas’ face up with one hand and gently kisses his lips. 

Douglas lets out a soft breath, kisses back for the briefest moment, and Nick’s eyes go wide, hand clenching on the soft leather of the banquette they’re sat on. He fumbles blindly for his drink.

“Max,” Douglas says weakly as he pulls away, going red all down his neck, ducking his head again. 

Max licks his bottom lip, settles back in his seat, fixing Nick with an amused stare. Like a mean American movie villain, he is, with that square jaw. Nick wishes he didn’t like that quite so much. 

Nick narrows his eyes right back. Joke’s on Max, Nick’s spent most of his life around painfully attractive people. He’s even managed to sleep with some of them. He cannot be phased, unless he wants to be. 

Max shrugs, slips his arm off Douglas’ shoulder. 

“Don’t act like it’s the first time, Booth,” he says, reaching forward to grab his beer. “Or do we need to recount that time during Riot Club when you brought a bottle of tequila to my trailer-" 

Douglas punches him in the thigh. "Shut up, Irons. That was method acting." 

"We get it, you snogged and didn’t invite me just cos I’m married,” Sam grumbles, staring down at his phone. “La dee fucking da." 

"Ooh, on-set secrets, how juicy.” Nick drains his drink, ignoring the way he’s itching to hear the end of that story. “As fun as your straight-boy homoeroticism is - and trust me, it’s _very_ fun - think I’m ready to turn in." 

Douglas looks up, wide-eyed. "It’s only half eleven!" 

"I’ve got work in the morning.” Nick reaches out to pat his knee, can’t resist giving him a little squeeze. Just a friendly one. “Some of us are responsible adults with proper jobs. Nine to five. Bills to pay." 

"I pay bills,” Douglas says, blinking slowly, affronted. 

“Think it’s a metaphor, Booth,” Max says, laughing. 

“No, no, my bills are very real,” Nick snorts. “Think I’ll grab a cab. Have a good night, lads." 

"Wait,” Douglas says, suddenly, when Nick’s halfway into his Burberry trench. “Wait. I’ll, uh, I’m knackered. I’ll split a cab. If it’s alright." 

Nick looks back. 

"Yeah,” he says, after a second. “Course. Whatever." 

He turns back around, does the buttons on his jacket, smiling to himself. Alright, then. 

—

They split a cigarette outside, passing it back and forth and laughing about the Jessie J remix blaring from the valet stand, ignoring the paps across the street. There’s not many, since it’s a Tuesday, but Douglas is an up-and-comer with a face made for the camera. They follow him around. 

Nick’s been through the wringer, though, what with Harry bloody Styles. He can deal with a few flashbulbs going off in his face while he sucks on a fag. 

"What’s your address, Booth?” Nick says once they’re settled in the back of a cab and he’s given his own to the driver. Douglas is slumped against the seat, looking a bit pissed, his eyes glazed over. He’s a skinny thing, can’t take much. Tall but scrawny.

Douglas toys with the hem of his jumper. 

“C'n I go back to yours?” he asks. “Fancy another drink." 

His posh accent twists sloppily when he’s drunk. 

Nick looks at him consideringly, as the cab pulls away from the curb. 

"You sure?" 

Douglas smiles at him. "If you’ll have me." 

"Oh, love,” Nick says, sitting back in his seat, rolling down the window a tad to feel the fresh air on his face. “I’ll have you any way you like." 

Douglas laughs embarrassedly, head lolling against the seat. His cheeks are flushed rosily. 

"You’re endearingly posh,” Nick says fondly, watching him. “And very easily scandalized.”

“I’m not posh,” Douglas says, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his Burberry jumper like that’ll help his argument. “Middle-class, actually." 

"London middle-class is different,” Nick argues, but he’s really not actually interested in winning, or making Douglas feel defensive. Douglas is posh, it’s alright. Nick loves posh people. He’s one of them these days, if his bank account and his wardrobe are any indication.

“Shurrup, Grimmy,” Douglas says, putting on some sort of Yorkshire accent that makes him sound even drunker. “I don’t haveta sound posh." 

"Oh my god, you’re such an _actor_ ,” Nick laughs. “Ohh, I’m pissed, let me try out some impressions-" 

"Shut up,” Douglas laughs, in his normal voice, shoving Nick’s thigh. His hand stays where it is, thumb tracing along the inseam of Nick’s jeans, and Nick watches as his head ducks, mouth falling half-open like Nick’s trousers are the most interesting thing he’s ever seen in his short life. 

“The question, love,” Nick says, very softly. Douglas swallows visibly, looks at him with wide eyes. “Is if you fuck like you’re posh." 

Maybe he shouldn’t have had that last drink. Those last three drinks. 

Douglas’ mouth opens. There’s spit glistening on his full bottom lip. 

"Because some posh boys,” Nick continues awkwardly, heart doing a nervous leap in his chest when Douglas doesn’t respond. Oh, if he’s read it wrong, he’ll feel so stupid. “Some posh boys are just dead _boring_ in bed. Trust me, I’ve slept with enough." 

Douglas blinks - once, twice. 

"I’m not boring in bed,” he says. 

Nick raises an eyebrow. “Sound a bit defensive." 

"I’m- oh, fuck you.”

Nick grins, relieved. The moment’s passed. Douglas is straight, probably, but at least he’s not shoving Nick out of the cab. 

“I’m not boring in bed,” Douglas repeats, sliding his hand back onto Nick’s thigh. “I - keep the lights on sometimes. I try new positions. I make - make girls scream, or whatever." 

Nick bursts into slightly-crazed laughter. It’s a hard combo to take, Douglas’ warm hand on his leg and his mouth saying _girls_. 

"Not new positions! You absolute _nutter,_ trying out new positions! Attention, the Mirror, Douglas Booth keeps the _lights on_ during sex!”

Douglas pouts. It’s a formidable pout. 

“What about you, then?” he asks, arching one perfect eyebrow. “Aren’t you always going on about how old and boring you are? Nine to five, bills to pay…" 

Nick huffs a laugh. "Mm, you’ve been listening. And here I thought you’ve just been staring at my pretty pretty face." 

Douglas blushes and shoves Nick’s thigh again, like any general comment about a pretty face is personally directed towards him. It must be weird, to look that way. 

"Don’t go on about how _I’m_ boring,” Douglas says, eyes gleaming. “When you wake up at half-five every morning." 

"That’s the thing about waking up early, though. Got to be creative. Can’t always have a shag in bed at nighttime." 

"Creative, huh?" 

"Yeah, creative." 

"Creative,” Douglas says, sounding out each syllable, oozing from his bee-stung mouth. His voice drops low. “Like, show me." 

Nick stares at him. "You’re drunk." 

"So’re you,” Douglas says, like it justifies anything. He pulls Nick closer by the thigh, and Nick goes easily, tilting his mouth towards Douglas’, curling his hand over Douglas’ fingers on his leg. His pulse is racing.

“You’re straight,” Nick tries, voice wobbly, feeling Douglas’ breath on his mouth. 

Douglas shakes his head, and kisses him. 

It’s hot and slow, their mouths working softly together in the hushed dark of the back of the car. Douglas tastes of spearmint and a hint of whiskey, and he smells like expensive cologne and fag smoke. All of Nick’s favorite things. He sighs against Douglas’ soft plush mouth, hums in pleasure when Douglas parts his lips for Nick’s tongue to slip inside. 

“Mmgh,” Douglas mumbles against Nick’s mouth, hand clenching down on his thigh. 

Nick nods and moves closer, sucking on Douglas’ tongue til he shivers, relishing the feeling of it, the way Douglas’ mouth opened for him, gave way like ripe fruit- 

The cab slams to a halt, and Douglas jerks backward. Nick rubs a shaking hand over his tingling mouth as the partition rolls down. 

“Here we are,” the driver says, his face giving nothing away. 

“Cheers,” Nick says hoarsely, tossing forty quid at him. “Keep the change." 

Douglas huffs out a laugh, and follows Nick out of the cab. 

—

Nick puts the kettle on, first thing. Maybe he is old. 

"You fancy a brew?” he asks, back to Douglas, who’s slouching against the countertop, looking like a centerfold, utterly sinful. “I’ve got this herbal shit, pomegranate or sommat. Fun fact, One Direction’s Harry Styles swears by it and bought me five boxes for Christmas. Or Yorkshire, of course, always got Yorkshire on hand-" 

Douglas steps behind him, slips his hands around Nick’s waist. A disarming move, that. Nick lets out a shuddery sigh, trying not to think about how his stomach’s soft against Douglas’ palms. 

"No tea?” Nick asks, a bit breathless. 

“You’re so fucking odd,” Douglas says, nuzzling against the back of Nick’s neck. “You kiss me in the car. Tell me you’ll have me any way I’ll let you. Ask me if I fuck posh. Poshly. Posh-like." 

"It’s very posh to care about the grammar of the word posh,” Nick says weakly. 

Douglas laughs against his ear. “Nick, I came home with you." 

"For a drink." 

Douglas presses his teeth against the top of Nick’s spine, above the hem of his shirt. Nick shudders. 

"What do you usually do, with boys you bring home?” he asks. 

“Well, I give the straight ones a blanket and let them sleep on my sofa-" 

"What about the not-straight ones?” Douglas asks. “What about the ones you snog in the back of cabs?" 

Nick swallows hard, and turns the kettle off. 

"Well,” he says, turning around in Douglas’ arms. Oh, fuck, that face’s like a megawatt lightbulb burning Nick’s retinas. He blinks a few times. “I s'pose I let those ones come back to my bedroom." 

"Your boudoir,” Douglas says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“My lair.” Nick laughs. “Wait, that sounds creepy. Promise I won’t cut your face off to make a mask." 

Douglas wrinkles his nose, and gently slings his arms around Nick’s neck. 

"You’re tall,” Nick says. “For a child." 

"You’re mouthy,” Douglas says right back. “For an old person." 

"Posh boy,” Nick breathes, just before he lets Douglas kiss his mouth. 

—

Douglas doesn’t fuck posh. 

No, no, he fucks very - very _satisfactorily._ Nick realizes that an hour later, when he’s bent over his dresser, staring at his bleary red face in the mirror, Douglas buried deep inside in him. He’s got a pretty dick to go along with his pretty face, and he knows how to use it. Nick can’t stop making these high embarrassing sounds, every time Douglas drives him forward. 

“Bloody- _yes_ ,” Douglas chokes out, slamming his hips, and Nick’s fingers scrabble against the wood. He groans, eyes shutting. 

“You- you like to watch yourself while you fuck?” he manages to ask, voice hoarse, rough and turned-on. “I mean, can’t blame you, with a face like that." 

"Shut it,” Douglas says, thrusting in again, rolling his hips. “You said I was boring." 

"I- take - it back-” Nick gasps, arching his back so Douglas can get deeper. “Not boring- at all. F-fascinating. Hidden d-depths, truly." 

Douglas kisses the back of his neck, and then slams his hips so hard Nick’s face presses against the dresser. Christ, he can feel that in his _teeth_. Christ alfuckingmighty. 

"Didn’t- do it- so I could look at myself. Fuck you feel good,” Douglas mutters, low against his ear, breathless. 

Nick just groans, forces his eyes open. He can see half of his face in the mirror, his swollen mouth from where he’d got down on his knees to suck Douglas hard, his watery eyes. Jesus, he hasn’t been fucked like this in ages. 

“Yeahh,” Douglas mumbles, one hand squeezing Nick’s hip, the other bracing himself on the dresser. “Yeah. _You_ like watching it, don’t you." 

Nick stares some more, at Douglas’ pretty face, his clenched jaw, the flush high on his cheekbones, how good Nick’s making him feel. 

"Yeah,” he says weakly, voice cracking. 

Douglas moans, like he didn’t expect Nick to admit it, and grabs at Nick’s hair when he comes. It’s a bit rough, in a way that drags Nick back off the edge of orgasm, and Nick shudders, panting, watching Douglas’ face twist in pleasure. 

“Shit,” Douglas breathes out, slumping forward against him, exhaling hugely against Nick’s neck. “Bloody hell, that was-" 

"Good, for you, I can see that,” Nick says, laughing a little. He’s still hard, his skin prickling and stomach tense, wanting to come. He wriggles forward, and Douglas pulls out, slow and careful like Nick needs the tenderness. It’s sweet, that. A perk of fucking younger blokes, the way they’re hesitant, sometimes. 

“You, uh-" 

Nick turns himself around to face him, legs wobbly. 

"Well,” he says, spreading his legs, bracing himself against the dresser. “How about you show me how you suck cock." 

Douglas blinks at him, gorgeously confused for a split second, and then sinks to his knees. Ah, what a sport. 

"I’m not that, like-” he says, wrapping his hand around the base. Nick’s close enough that it won’t matter, whatever confession about his limited dick-sucking experience Douglas is about to stutter out. 

“Shh,” Nick says, touching his forehead gently. “Suck hard with your mouth, not too deep, no teeth. Wank me with your hand at the same time." 

Douglas sends him an annoyed look. "I’ve done it before-" 

"Fantastic, then show me,” Nick says, laughing. Not to be impatient, but _really_ , Christ. The boy just fucked his brains out and Nick would like to come, very soon. 

Douglas bites his lip thoughtfully and leans in. Nick watches him, fascinated, watches Douglas’ eyes flutter shut as he lets the tip of Nick’s cock sit heavy against his bottom lip. 

“You look very posh,” Nick murmurs, stroking at his artfully-mussed hair, his warm flushed cheeks. “With my prick in your mouth like that." 

Douglas breaks off, saliva trailing from his lip to the head of Nick’s dick. 

"Don’t think my mother would agree,” he says, and Nick laughs giddily. 

“Kinky!" 

"Shut _up_ ,” Douglas snorts. 

“Go on, love,” Nick says kindly, putting his hand over the back of Douglas’ head. Douglas pulls a face at him, and lowers his mouth again. 

He’s not awful. Nick trembles at a brief scrape of teeth, but it’s nothing too scarring. His mouth is hot and his hand soft and un-calloused, slipping up and down Nick’s prick, gripping tight.

Plus, the visuals are - well. Nick fights against closing his eyes for as long as he can, just to watch Douglas down there, his pale angular face and his mouth on Nick’s dick. It’s almost blasphemous, like Nick’s fucking a Renaissance painting.

“That’s lovely,” Nick murmurs, when he’s close, rocking gently into the circle of Douglas’ palm, gasping when Douglas sucks sharply at Nick’s slit with his tongue. “That’s- god, yes, that’s- just like that, Booth. So bloody gorgeous. So good." 

Douglas hums around a mouthful, drooling down his chin and giving Nick’s dick a hard tug at the same time, and Nick just- can’t, he can’t. He clenches his eyes shut and chokes a warning, and Douglas pulls off, jerks him through it, cupping his palm over the tip of Nick’s dick and catching his come. Nick gasps, head back, reveling in the tremble in his thighs, the way his belly’s quivering inside like jelly. 

"God,” he says, weakly, when he’s done. “That was - lovely." 

Douglas reaches over to fumble a tissue off Nick’s nightstand, wiping off his palm. "Me sucking your cock was -  _lovely_. Who’s the posh one here again?" 

Nick grins, lazily. "Still you." 

Douglas bites at Nick’s hip, gently, and Nick squeaks, slumps back against the dresser. 

Douglas strokes his thumb over the bite. 

"Can I sleep here?” he asks. 

Nick touches his soft hair. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I’ve got this sofa-" 

"Fuck off.” Douglas grins against his skin, and then staggers up to his feet. “Think I’ve earned a place in your bed, Grimmy." 

"You didn’t have to earn a thing,” Nick says, touching Douglas’ chin, thumbing over his slick bottom lip. “But I’m glad you did." 

Douglas smiles slow. 

—

Nick gets him off in the morning before work, tucks himself behind Douglas’ long lean body and wanks him off while Douglas is still half-asleep, murmuring, groaning, shivering when Nick puts fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet. 

He leaves Douglas right there, fucked-out and satisfied and already asleep again. Pig jumps right into bed while Nick’s in the shower, and Nick comes out, clucks at her, curled up against Douglas’ back. 

"Shameless,” he whispers, shaking his head. “But I get it. He’s pretty, isn’t he?" 

"Stop talking to your dog about me,” Douglas mumbles, eyes closed. “It’s weird." 

"You’re weird." 

Douglas smiles, a sleepy stretch of his pretty mouth, managing to look warmly amused without opening his eyes. 

"Get to work,” he says, nuzzling into Nick’s pillow. “Old man." 

"Don’t move a muscle.” Nick stares down at him. “If you remove your gorgeous face from this bed, we’ll have  _words_ , Booth. Stay right there.”

Douglas hums, tugging the duvet up. “Alright." 

—

"And what’s _this_?” Fiona says, an hour later, bellying up to the desk with Heat in her hands, laughing into mic. “Who’s this in this photo with you, Nicholas? I see cheekbones, I see _great_  hair-" 

"Oh, we know who that is,” Matt laughs. “Best mates, aren’t you, Nick?" 

"Cheekbones and great hair? You sure you’re not thinking of me, Fi?” Nick asks, very innocently. She throws the magazine at him, snorting. 

“Got a text off him today?” Matt asks, sounding devious. “Go on, I bet you do. _Oh, Nicky, I miss you so much already, let’s go have a pint, xx Dougie_." 

"I have no texts from a certain Douglas Booth. Absolutely none." 

"Oh c'monnnn. Read it out." 

"There’s nothing to read out!" 

Fiona hums doubtfully. "You seem very suspicious, Nicholas." 

"Oh shut it,” Nick laughs, covering his mouth with one hand to hide the stupid grin sprouting there. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but Finchy, aren’t we late for the news? God, who’s producing this show?" 

Finchy sighs. "For once in your life, Nick, you’re right." 

"Heyyy, I’m right all the time." 

"Do the news, Nick, we’ll discuss the truth of that statement off-air." 

Nick laughs, feeling giddy. "Alright. It’s just past seven, which mean it’s time for News Beat, with Tina Daheley." 

He hits the theme song button, and sits back in his seat, grins up at the ceiling. 

Fiona watches him suspiciously. "You’re happy." 

"Life is beautiful, Fi." 

"Ewww, you had a _shag._ " 

Nick just grins some more, and steals her coffee. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more nick/dougie b.
> 
> written march 2015

“You want me to, uh, prep you more, or what?” Nick asks, voice strained. “We could-”

“Give me a fucking minute,” Douglas mutters. His eyes are shut, plump bottom lip caught between his teeth. Nick’s used to that expression, if he’s honest, but Douglas is a bit more - virginal, than the other blokes Nick’s fucked - in the arse-fucking department at least - and Nick doesn’t want to scar him for life.

“Are you sure-”

“Y-yes,” Douglas says, voice breaking. He splays his legs a bit wider, gasps when Nick’s cock slips inside a centimeter more. Nick groans through his teeth. “Oh- _oh_ , fuck. God.”

“We don’t have to-”

“Will you _shut_ the fuck up,” Douglas mumbles. “S'not my fault you’re fucking massive.”

“I’m just saying, if you want to- we could switch round, if you like, it’s fine-”

“No, I - I want,” Douglas chokes. He wriggles a little, eyelids fluttering. “To do this.”

“God, you’re unfairly pretty,” Nick murmurs. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s especially relevant now, with Douglas’ sweet face all flushed and pink as he tries to take Nick’s dick, and his lips bitten red and full, his toned movie-star abs quivering with the effort. Nick’s not much of a top, if he’s honest - it’s never the first thing on his mind, but he’d have to be a bloody eunuch to not enjoy the way Douglas looks up there, sitting on Nick’s prick. Nick feels all laddy and turned-on and he never wants Douglas to move. It’s kind of amazing.

“Breathe,” he advises, and Douglas lets out a strained breath, glaring down at him.

“I am. Think I’d notice if I wasn’t bloody breathing.”

“Deeper.”

Douglas inhales shakily, and they both groan when he slides down, Nick’s dick burying deep inside him. _There_ it is.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” Nick mumbles. “You - you alright?”

Douglas has his eyes closed, breath letting out in soft raspy exhales. His mouth is open, and Nick wants to kiss him, but he stays perfectly still.

“It’s like,” Douglas says, licking his lips. “Full.”

“Yeah?” Nick’s head is spinning. He’s practically shaking, trying not to fuck his hips up, get some friction, some movement. But Douglas is new to this, and very very pretty besides, and Nick’s never quite sure if he’s going to be scared off. He’s not taking any chances.

“Yea-ah,” Douglas says, on a moan. “Feel really full.”

“C'n you move your, uh-” Nick nods frantically when Douglas lifts his hips. “Yeah, yes, Douglas. God. Fuck, that’s so-”

“What do I feel like?” Douglas asks, sinking down again and whining out a breath. God, his bloody _face_. He’s sin walking. Or sin riding Nick’s dick, actually. “Like, I’ve always sort of wondered-”

“Curious, were you?”

Douglas is pink in the cheeks. “Shut it, Grim. Tell me-”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You - you feel really bloody good, like, so tight, so hot. Soft inside, on me.”

“Soft,” Douglas chokes out.

“Yeah, like - squeezing me, it’s- it’s so tight. You’re fucking fantastic, love. Made for this.”

Douglas is riding him now, carefully, hips rolling. He knows how to bloody do it, Nick’s had his cock enough times this way. He should’ve learned by example by now.

“How’s it feel for you?” Nick asks, reaching up to thumb over Douglas’ hips, firm with muscle. He really does have a delightful body. So fun to fuck around with. And he works harder in bed than most people with faces like his. “You like that, feeling full?”

“Yeah,” Douglas murmurs. His nipples are pink and tight and Nick reaches to touch one, rubs two fingers over it until Douglas lets out a rough breath. “S'like all - full and - and hot.”

Nick nods, and moves his hand from Douglas’ nipple to his flushed cock, bobbing between his legs. Douglas whines and clenches when Nick gives him a firm stroke.

“Shit, Nick-”

“It’s making you hard,” Nick murmurs. “Riding me?”

Douglas just groans, reaches forward to brace himself on Nick’s headboard, rocks his hips.

“Here, love.” Nick shifts his hips, tucking his legs up until Douglas is riding him a different angle, closer, tighter. “Let me-”

Douglas grinds down and lets out a rough gasp, fingers clenching on the headboard. That’s it, innit. Nick grins, breathless, watching him. “That’s the spot, Booth?”

“Jesus,” Douglas mutters. “S'like so- god, god, fuck.”

“Here, love, lean forward, let it -  yes, that’s it. That feels good, yeah?”

Douglas is groaning with each breath, properly gone now. It’s been a long while since Nick fucked someone like this, someone new to it all. Been a while since he watched a boy realize he loved getting fucked.

Maybe since Harry. Christ, has it been that long?

Harry went so quiet when he came Nick thought he’d died. He’d let out a mighty gasp after, though, cursed in his low voice, his thighs trembling. He didn’t ride Nick, that first time. Went on his back with his legs spread wide and Nick staring at him as they fucked. Nick fell onto him after, took Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him for a very long time.

Nick doesn’t fuck that way very much anymore. Face to face is a bit young and romantic for someone who’s been around as much as he has, and anyway, prolonged eye contact can give a boy ideas.

But this is gorgeous, Douglas on top of him. Utterly gorgeous. And they’ve been shagging for a few months, on and off, so it’s not quite as hit-and-run as the one night stands Nick’s used to.

He tunes back in to Douglas practically tearing the bleeding headboard off, grinding himself down and back onto Nick’s dick.

“Enjoying yourself?” Nick manages to say, sounding more smug than he feels.

“Shut up,” Douglas chokes. His chest is flushed a blotchy pink, his white teeth flashing as he gasps for air.

“Sweet talker.”

“Old man.”

Nick laughs, tweaks a fingerful of spare flesh on Douglas’ belly. It’s hard to find, but not as hard as it would’ve been a few months back. Nick’s a good influence, always taking Douglas out for beers or splitting a plate of chips with him after a few cocktails. All part of Nick’s plan to turn Douglas into a human being and not a flawless space creature.

Douglas grunts, bats Nick’s hand away and curls his palm around his dick. Nick lets him wank himself off, watching the red plump head peek out over the top of his fist with each stroke.

“Feel good?”

“Gngh,” Douglas replies, very eloquent, and Nick strokes his hips, the tense muscle of his legs.

“You look,” he says, low. His voice comes out hoarse like when he’s got a cold and needs to talk on radio all day anyway. “You look so fucking good.”

Douglas stares at him, eyes wide. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nick squeezes Douglas’ thighs. “Very posh.”

Douglas snorts at the old joke. “Shut it.”

Nick laughs too. “Very pretty. Look so pretty with a dick in you.”

“Shit,” Douglas mutters, eyes going dark. So easy for dirty talk, though he’s confessed to Nick that he never did it much before him. He never did a lot of things before Nick - dirty talk, junk food, getting fucked in the arse…

Nick came on Douglas’ face, the week before, and Douglas came all over himself shortly after, a frantic hand down his pants, his cheeks and chin smeared shiny and his lips obscenely swollen from sucking Nick’s dick.

Lots of new things. Nick grins, settles his hands on Douglas’ hips.

“Can you make yourself come like this?” he asks.  

Judging by the state of him, Nick’s quite sure he can, but it always helps to ask.

“Douglas,” he says, trying to sound steady, though it’s so hot he’s nearly shaking. “Gonna come like this? On my dick?”

“God, fuck. Yes,” Douglas mumbles, hand moving in a blur, the sounds of it slick and hot. “Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

“Go on,” Nick murmurs. “Go on, love. Christ, if they could see you right now. Pretty boy.”

Nick doesn’t know who _they_ are exactly, but Douglas seems to, because he groans loose in his throat, thigh muscles twitching.

“Not that fucking posh, are you,” Nick says, strained. “No, you’re fucking filthy, aren’t you. Going to come all over yourself-”

“Nick,” Douglas whimpers.

“Yeah, love, c'mon, God-”

“ _Nick_ -”

And oh, Christ, that’s lovely. Douglas spurts over his belly, hand working over his dick, and how have they not done this before? Nick’s got the _best view_ from down there, of Douglas’ pretty body and his flushed face and his dick. It’s incredible. Nick watches him come, stroking the soft grain of hair on his thighs, until Douglas shudders out a last breath and goes limp.

“Alright there?” Nick asks, as Douglas’ head ducks and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“God,” Douglas exhales.

“Hop off, love,” Nick says softly. “I can finish myself off if you like-”

“No,” Douglas slurs, sounding shagged-out and dazed. “Wanna make you come.”

“You’ve done enough, Booth-”

“I want,” Douglas insists. “To make you come.”

Nick sighs. Younger blokes, with their need to _see things through_ and _make their partner happy_. Back in Nick’s day, if he got off, he was happy to gather his things and bail.

“Well, you won’t do it like that, love,” he says, motioning at Douglas, prone on his lap. “How ‘bout you use your mouth?”

Douglas pulls a face.

“You can take the condom off first,” Nick says, huffing a laugh. “You prude.”

“I’m not a bloody prude,” Douglas says, brows furrowing, and he lifts his hips. “Oh my _God_ bloody fucking _hell_ -”

“Careful, Jesus,” Nick snorts. “You’ve got to go slower than that, love-”

Douglas hisses through his teeth as he pulls off, and Nick tuts softly, patting his thigh. “Soz.”

Douglas reaches behind him, nose wrinkling as he touches himself. “Shit, that hurt.”

“I’m sorryyy-”

“Yeah, shut up, old man,” Douglas grumbles, as Nick tugs the condom off, squeezes his prick in one hand. Douglas crawls down his body, nudges Nick’s legs apart fussily.

“Gonna let me come on your face again, love?” Nick asks, biting down a grin.

Douglas looks up, cheeks red. “You’d better bloody not.”

“Yeah, you didn’t like that at _all,_ did you.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Douglas laughs, before he takes Nick’s dick into his mouth, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering shut.

He’s started to like that, lately. Sucking cock. He’s told Nick so, in a strange self-satisfied voice, all proud as he comes up for air with drool on his chin. Nick’s a _fantastic_ influence.

He didn’t have to do much, there. Douglas is a natural. Would be, with a mouth like that.

Speaking of - Nick groans, already close, and reaches down to run his fingers through Douglas’ hair. Douglas grunts around Nick’s dick, bobs his head faster.

“That is - _nearly_ perfect,” Nick says, voice unsteady. “Oh god. Your - just. Little tighter. Use your hand at the-”

Douglas grunts again, sounding annoyed. Doesn’t pull off, though, so he can’t be that mad.

“Yeah,” Nick gasps, feeling it come closer, the hot tug in his belly. “Yeah, that’s so - oh, shit, love, that’s-”

He shuts his eyes as he comes, and Douglas stays right down there, swallowing and then licking, his breath coming out in uneven huffs. Nick groans blissfully, and then hisses, reaches down to push Douglas’ head away as he keeps sucking, making the pleasure go sharp.

“Christ, Booth, that’s enough.”

Douglas looks up, eyes glazed. He blinks a few times, and then grins, dimples flashing. “G-got you off, didn’t I?”

“Mm, yeah, you did. C'mere, let me kiss you, please.”

Douglas goes all soft-eyed, clambers up Nick’s body and presses their mouths together. He tastes salty, bitter, but it’s nothing Nick can’t handle, and he feels good enough that Nick doesn’t care.

Nick skims his hand down Douglas’ bare back, palms at the soft rise of his arse. “Did you like that? Being fucked?”

Douglas huffs out a breath, rolls off Nick until they’re side by side. “Don’t be smug. About your massive prick.”

“How in the world am I-”

“Shuttt up,” Douglas laughs. He leans forward to press a kiss against Nick’s shoulder. “Yeah. It was - interesting.”

“Only interesting? Lots of things are interesting, Booth. But they don’t all make you come.”

Douglas snorts. “Was more than interesting, then.”

Nick grins up at the ceiling.  "More than interesting. I’ll take it.“

Douglas pushes himself up on one elbow, leans down to kiss Nick’s mouth. Christ, his lips are so soft. Nick forgets every time.

"Was good,” he says, and then, shyly- “So was yesterday.”

Nick smiles at him, rubs a thumb over the flat plane of his cheekbone. It was nice, yesterday. Going out with Nick’s friends, getting pissed off pints at half three in the afternoon. Stumbling back to Nick’s flat and watching telly until late. Matt gave him a knowing look, when the rest of them left and Douglas stayed.

Matt can keep his looks to himself, because Nick’s got his eyes wide bloody open about this. Douglas is gorgeous and young and destined for big things. All Nick hopes is that they have a bit of fun, and that Douglas thinks of him fondly when he inevitably moves on to better things.

Sometimes Nick feels like a real fucking cliche. When did he start being the old one? The one who knows better?

Harry’s fault, again, probably. Nick was quite silly and young before Harry. Looking for something raw and real, something big, and Harry fell right into his lap.

Nick ruffles Douglas’ hair, tries to not think about it.

“Your mates are cool,” Douglas says, curling his hand around Nick’s wrist and pressing a kiss to the flat of his palm. “All my London mates are so, like. I dunno. Fake.”

Nick pulls Douglas’ face to his, kisses his mouth. “Come out with us anytime, love. Quite good eye candy, you are. Nice to keep around.”

Douglas ducks his head til his hair is brushing Nick’s chin, lets out a little laugh. “Alright.”

He flops his head back down, lets out a sigh, and Nick blinks up at the ceiling. He’s got the show tomorrow, a big one. James Bay, so Nick’ll have to not look a complete mess. Two meetings after, one for radio and one for telly, and then Pig needs to go into the vet for that ear she keeps scratching obsessively, and - _shit_ , he needs petrol. Nick lets out a slow breath and wonders what Douglas is thinking, right that second. Probably something about a movie premiere or a script or a haircut. Whatever very pretty famous people think about.

Nick huffs a laugh.

“What?” Douglas murmurs, sounding sleepy.

“Nothing.”

Douglas hums, nuzzles closer, throws an arm over Nick’s chest. It makes Nick’s heart go wobbly with a sudden tenderness.

He strokes Douglas’ hair.

“Night,” Douglas mutters.

“Good night,” Nick says absently.

When Douglas drops off Nick untangles himself, slides out of bed. He sets out his outfit for the next day, lets Pig out for a last wee. He’s in the kitchen filling a glass of water when his knees buckle against one of those awful waves of memory. Another night, years ago, past midnight, the flat hushed and still. Nick in the kitchen, Harry behind him, shirtless, reaching around to fill his glass from the sink. His warm chin on Nick’s shoulder, laughter in Nick’s ear, the smell of him, heady and musky cos they were both freshly-fucked and unshowered. Nick’s hair was a mess and he didn’t care. Harry kissed the back of his neck. Nick was happy.

Oh, Christ. Nick is not allowed to feel lonely when there’s a twenty-two year old movie star in his bed. That’s not bloody allowed.

He turns the tap off, and goes to bed, slides in next to Douglas. They come and go, these kinds of blokes, and Nick knows that. He’s so much better at it now. He smiles against the soft warmth of Douglas’ shoulder, presses his mouth against the top of his spine. The trick is enjoying it while it lasts, and then letting it go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gryles with a side of dougie b 
> 
> written march 2015

“Oh, look who’s back in town,” Nick says, holding the door wide open with one hand. Harry just grins at him. Nick looks older, his eyes sleepy, glasses on. He’s lost some weight and his cheekbones stick out. His hair’s shorter on the sides.

He’s still Nick, though. Harry pushes past him, barely lets Nick lock the door before he’s wrapping his arms around Nick from behind, breathing in the smell of him.

“Hi,” he mumbles.  

“Hello, Haz,” Nick says bemusedly. “You’re here. All in one piece.”

Harry pulls back, lets Nick turn to face him, leans in and kisses his cheek. “Alive and well. Well, I’m alive.” He snorts.

“Clever,” Nick says, with a soft twist to his mouth. “Well, look at you, you’re here. What’d I do to deserve this honor? In the neighborhood, were you?”

“Summat like that.”

“Fancy a drink? Cup of tea?”

“Both. Either.” Harry drops his bag on the floor, follows Nick into the kitchen. He’s weirdly nervous. It’s just been a long time, since he- he thought about Nick the way he’s thinking about him now. With - _intentions_.

Christ, he sounds like some Victorian-era lady. Intentions!

“I’ve got work in the morning,” Nick says, reaching for the kettle. “So tea it is. How long you been back, Hazza?”

“Couple hours,” Harry says breathlessly. He coughs, leans against the counter, tries to look innocent as Nick turns to him, comically slow.

“Couple _hours_?” he asks dubiously. “Have you gone home?”

“I’ve put my stuff down. Well, I had Rex do it.”

Nick’s eyebrow arches.

“And here you are,” he says, almost to himself.

“Nick,” Harry says, while Nick’s still looking at him. He curls his hands around the kitchen counter, cants his hips forward. Nick doesn’t look down, but Harry can see how he wants to. Impressive self-control.

“This feels quite pointed,” Nick says, looking suspicious. “Am I being pranked?”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Nick chokes out a laugh. “Uhh. Why d'you-”

“You know why the fuck I’m asking.”

“Christ, what _year_ is it,” Nick breathes.

“2015. And I’m asking if you’re seeing anyone.” Harry pushes himself off the counter, and Nick’s eyes widen as Harry comes closer.

“Not- at the moment, no, I’m not,” Nick says, swallowing. “I- nothing. Nothing serious.”

“Good,” Harry says, softly. He reaches behind Nick to flick the kettle off, and then slides his hands up the sides of Nick’s neck into his hair.

“Haz,” Nick mumbles. Harry can feel him shudder, and the smell of him, familiar and warm, makes Harry’s mouth water.

“What are we-” Nick tries again, and Harry cuts him off with a kiss. Nick’ll figure out what they’re doing as they go along. He always does.

An hour later Nick’s naked on his dick, riding him in bed with his glasses off and hair askew, and Harry wonders why the hell he waited so long to have him again. Well, he knows why, it’s cos they’re good at fucking each other _up_ as well as just fucking each other. But he can’t think of that now, when Nick’s gasping, rolling his hips and leaning down for a kiss. No, all he’s thinking is how happy he is to here. Home. Nick’s arse.

“Hi,” Harry breathes into his mouth, running his palms up Nick’s warm, solid back. He can feel Nick’s spine under his fingers.

Nick snorts, chokes on a breath as he grinds back down onto Harry’s dick. _Christ,_ it feels good. “Hi, you- you nutter.”

Harry grins against Nick’s cheek, catches Nick’s bottom lip in a slow kiss just as he thrusts his hips up, and Nick grunts.

“Fu-uck. God.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-yeah, Haz,” Nick mutters out, eyes closed now, a flush high on his cheeks. “Shit.”

“You been doing this with- with anyone else?” Harry asks, curling his palms around Nick’s hips. Nick’s soft there despite the weight he’s lost, and he chokes, tightens around Harry as Harry runs his fingers over the hair on Nick’s belly.

“What- what d'you think, I’ve been waiting around?” Nick gasps. “Self- self _-_ obsessed bastard.”

Harry snorts, widening his legs and tipping his head back at the feeling of Nick’s arse, tight and wet. _Harry_ hasn’t been doing this with anyone else, if he’s honest. Well, sex, of course. He’s been doing - sex. Having sex. With women.

Just not this. Harry reckons it’s been at least eight months since he fucked another bloke. Maybe a year even. It never feels urgent, until he sees Nick and then suddenly it’s all he can think about.

Course, it’s been longer since he fucked _Nick_. There are other reasons why they-

Harry puts it out of his head.

“H-haz, fuck,” Nick’s breathing out, arms around Harry’s neck, and it hasn’t been so long that Harry’s forgotten what Nick needs. He runs his hand down to skim his palm over the leaking head of Nick’s cock and Nick groans.

Harry does it again, and then teases at Nick’s slit with one finger just as Nick sits himself firmly back down on Harry’s cock.

“Ohh, god, fuck,” Nick chokes, lifting up again, faster now, looking desperate. His cock’s throbbing against Harry’s fingers, spilling precome. “Oh fucking- stop bloody fucking _teasing_ , you - fuck- please-”

Harry chokes out a giddy laugh. He slides his hand down Nick’s thick cock, his grip tight, and Nick comes, gasping, his arse clenching around Harry in pulses that nearly bring Harry off.

“Gnngh,” Nick slurs against Harry’s neck. Harry pets his hair, quivering from Nick still being on him, around him.

“Can I-”

“Yeah, just like, wait,” Nick murmurs, lifting his head to give Harry a surprisingly sweet kiss. He lifts off, tumbles onto his back in bed, and Harry pushes himself up and over, guides himself back inside. Fuck, Nick’s so tight. Harry thrusts all the way in, and Nick lets out a loud breath, slides his hands to Harry’s arse to shove him in deeper. Bloody _greedy_ , Nick is. Harry grins against his mouth, and slams his hips home.

—

They lie there for a while afterwards, both breathing slow. Harry can’t stop running his palm over the hair on Nick’s chest and stomach, feeling the bumps of his ribs through his skin. Eventually Nick fumbles for his phone and yelps.

“It’s half _twelve_ , Jesus Christ. Why am I not asleep?”

“Go to sleep,” Harry mumbles, dipping his head to kiss Nick’s nipple. He presses his cheek into the soft fur of Nick’s chest, rolls his face against it, and Nick laughs, reaches down to tangle his hand in Harry’s hair.

“What’re you doing, weirdo?”

“Missed you,” Harry mumbles. He shuts his eyes.

Nick scritches his nails over Harry’s scalp, back and forth.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

Harry closes his eyes tighter. That’s not why he’s here, to bloody - talk, about - about all of it.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Nick huffs out a breath that Harry can feel under his cheek. “You’re not fine. _I’m_ not even fine. Don’t be all stoic, popstar.”

Harry lifts his head til his chin’s resting on Nick’s stomach, sinking into soft skin. Nick looks at him, stroking Harry’s hair out of his face.

“Bit gutted, are you, Haz?” he whispers. “I would be, it’s alright.”

Harry doesn’t know what his face is doing, but his skin is hot and prickly. He can’t keep eye contact with Nick.

“Or,” Nick says, after a strained silence, Harry staring determinedly off into space. “Or we could not talk about it. Seems like you’re leaning towards not wanting to talk about it.”

Harry nods slowly.

Nick rubs a thumb over Harry’s bottom lip, laughs absently when Harry licks it. “I’m going to bed.”

Harry follows him into the en-suite, puts the toilet seat down and sits while Nick brushes his teeth.

“When’re you going to LA?” Nick says, voice garbled. There’s foam on the side of his mouth.

Harry shrugs, ignoring the flutter of panic from that question. Nick spits in the sink, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I mean, you are going, aren’t you? Before your break’s over? I thought you were going to spend, like-”

“What, you want to get rid of me?” Harry says, and it comes out nastier than he meant it. He looks away.

Nick stares at him in the mirror. “That’s not what I- oh yeah, Haz, that’s me, always wanting to get _rid_ of you.” His voice is heavy with sarcasm.

“Well I dunno,” Harry mutters. “You could’ve changed.”

“Sadly I have not,” Nick says, voice clipped, eyes sliding away from Harry’s. He has his glasses on again, a pair of boxers tugged up over his arse. “I’m going to bed. Stay up if you like.”

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

“There’s a spare in the medicine cabinet.”

That’s not what Harry asked.

He waits until Nick’s gone before he grabs Nick’s toothbrush, wets it under the sink, squeezes on a thick line of white paste and sticks it in his mouth. The handle’s still warm from Nick’s palm.

Harry brushes for a while, mind wandering, and then spits loudly into the sink.

Nick’s asleep when he steps back into the room, or doing a damn good job of faking it. He’s on his side, a pillow to his chest, and his dog- Pig, Harry remembers - is curled up right where Harry was planning on sleeping, nose tucked under the duvet.

So this is how Nick sleeps, every night. Harry tilts his head and watches him for a minute. It’s the same, Nick’s the same. So steady. Always with a place in his bed for his dog and for Harry.

That’s awful of Harry to think, maybe. But he’s so bloody glad all the same. He gets into bed quietly, leans over Pig to press a kiss against the back of Nick’s shoulder.

“G'night,” Nick mumbles.

“Night, Grim,” Harry whispers, before he reaches out to turn off the lamp.

—

Nick gets up early for work, and Harry wakes up halfway as the alarm goes, practically vibrating from the familiar pleasure of the feeling. Curled in Nick’s warm cosy bed as he rushes around his room getting ready, cursing to himself. Feeling like a part of his life, a piece of the furniture. Harry lies there breathing heavily, happily, and startles when Nick leans down to check if he’s awake.

“Hi,” Harry says, opening his eyes, and Nick lets out a strange little squawk.

“Oh god. You scared me. Hi, popstar. Uhh, I’m off to work.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, reaching up for Nick’s neck, pulling him down to press a kiss against his mouth. Nick’s minty and his lips are soft.

“Ergh,” Nick laughs. “Morning breath.”

Harry just sticks out his tongue, squeezes the back of Nick’s neck and feels Nick twitch from it.

“Have fun at work.”

“Alright,” Nick says, looking half-amused, half-wary. “Uhh, text me if you’d like to go out sometime. With - with everyone, I mean. Daisy’s got this fashion thing Saturday, it could be-”

“Can we talk about it when you get home?”

Nick’s face moves from half-wary to all-wary. “H-ome. Here? I mean-”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be today,” Harry says, arching his back to stretch, groaning at how good it feels. He doesn’t miss the way Nick’s eyes drop to his mouth as he does so. “Can I stick around here? I’ll throw the ball for Pig. Make you dinner if you’re nice.”

Nick blinks a few times.

“Course you can stay,” he says. “I just figured you’d- you’d have meetings, or summat.”

Harry’ll have meetings soon. And they’ll probably make him want to blow his bleeding brains out, as they always have lately.  

“No,” he says. “No meetings.”

They both hear a honk outside, and then Nick’s phone starts vibrating, stuffed in the pocket of his skinny jeans.

“Go,” Harry says, patting Nick’s shoulder. “See you - soon.”

“I’ll be back at noon or so.”

“Mm, alright. Have a good show.”

Nick peers at him one last time, like he’s trying to figure Harry out, and Harry closes his eyes.

“See you,” Nick says softly.

Harry hears the door shut, and then a minute later, the front door of Nick’s flat. He flops his hand out onto the bed and laughs when he touches wet doggy nose. Pig snuffles at his palm, licks it, and Harry sighs and shuts his eyes.

—

They go out on Friday night, with Nick’s friends from work, and Aimee, who grins when she sees Harry and pulls him into a hard hug, kisses his cheeks. Harry pulls back, rubbing off lipstick. Aimee always makes him feel about eighteen years old.

“Heyy, kid,” she says. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Really? Actually?”

Harry forces a laugh. “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m - hey, Ian, what’s up, mate?”

They have a few drinks, sitting at a booth in the back of the pub, and then Matt laughs at someone behind Harry.

“Can’t get enough of us, can you?” he calls.

Harry twists around in his seat to see a bloke sliding into the booth next to Nick, vaguely familiar. Maybe one of Daisy’s model friends. He’s got the face for it, big doe eyes and a full mouth and strong cheekbones.

“Oh hello,” Nick says to him, sounding familiar and amused, and Harry watches as the man leans in to give Nick a kiss on the cheek, low and close to his mouth.

“Hi,” the man says, before he looks across the table and does a double-take. “Hey, Fi, hi, Ian - Oh, shit. Hello. Harry Styles.”

“Be cool, Booth,” Nick says, laughing, looking pleased.

“Shut it,” the man says, punching Nick’s thigh. “Hello, sorry. I’m Douglas. Booth. Good to meet you.”

Harry extends a hand over the table, and Douglas takes it.

“Nick talks about you constantly,” Douglas says, laughing. “Some herbal tea you swear by? Can’t shut up about it.”

“Idiot,” Nick says, stealing a sip of Douglas’ drink. Harry watches his hand move, and tears his eyes away.

“That pomegranate açaí stuff?” he says. “You like that?”

“It’s al _right_.”

“I knew you’d like that.” Harry grins. It feels fake.

Douglas laughs. “How long’re you in town, Harry?”

Harry swallows a sip of his drink the wrong way and has to sputter a cough into his palm. “Uhh. Not quite sure.”

“You have a couple months off,” Nick says.

“But who knows. Might go home for a bit.”

“Where’s home?” Douglas asks, giggling at Nick as Nick steals another sip of his drink.

“LA,” Harry says, coolly.

“Oh, lovely. LA’s fun, innit.”

“Oh tell us more about LA, you obnoxious movie star, please,” Nick says, snorting.

Harry takes a long sip of his beer, coughs and says politely, “Oh, are you an actor?”

“I’m - will you _stop_ ,” Douglas laughs, batting Nick’s hand away. “Yes, I’m - yes.”

“Cool.”

“Oh, it’s. Yeah. It’s fun.”

“He’s also the Breakfast Show team mascot,” Nick says. “Spends most of his time hanging around us.”

“Nick,” Matt says, laughing.

“I spend most of my time with Fi-fi, not you, Nick,” Douglas says. “Just trying to win her affection-”

“Shut up, Booth,” Fiona says.

“Fi’s a vlogging superstar now, have you heard, Haz,” Nick says, grinning down the table at her. “I was on one. I was incredible.”

“You were alright,” Fiona grumbles.

“When’m I gonna be on one?” Ian whines.

“When you didn’t quit the bloody show, you bastard!” Nick laughs.

“Nick,” Matt says again, sighing. “That didn’t even make sense.”

“Hey, it’s all the rage to jump ship these days, innit?” Ian asks. “Me, Zayn Mal- _ow_!”

He rubs his elbow, glaring at Aimee, and Harry looks away, into his drink. He takes a long sip. He feels a bit like he should be laughing, assuring everyone it’s fine. Joking.

He doesn’t feel like that, though.

“So, next week,” Matt says, into the awkward silence. Harry feels a foot on his under the table and looks up to see Nick, watching him carefully.

_Alright_? _,_ he mouths.

Harry nods, forces the corners of his mouth up.

“We’re not talking about work,” Fi-fi says, flicking water from the outside of her glass onto Matt’s face. He whines, puts his hands up defensively.

“Yeah, no work chat, Finchy,” Nick says. “Let’s talk about… me.”

“Your favorite subject,” Douglas says, not looking bothered. His cheeks are pink and he’s looking at Nick like he’s the bloody sun.

Nick shrugs, doesn’t deny it.

“Remember when Nick burned his mouth on that pasty at the rugby and couldn’t talk for an hour?” Matt says, snorting into his drink. “Best time of my life.”

“Didn’t keep him from whining,” Douglas says, and puts on a high voice. “Mmmgh myy mouthgh hurts-”

Nick shoves him, looking pleased, and Harry can’t. He can’t.

“Getting a drink,” he says, slipping out of the booth. “Anyone want anything? Grim?”

“I’m good, I think,” Nick says, smiling at him.

“I’ll go with,” Aimee says, sliding out of her seat.

Harry takes two photos at the bar, signs a napkin, as Aimee waits patiently for her refreshed vodka-soda

“So,” he says, once the coast seems clear. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good,” Aimee says. “I got married.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Holy- _fuck_ , I knew that, oh my god, congratulations. I’m sorry, I’m a prick, I should’ve brought you something-”

“It’s fine,” Aimee laughs, as Harry puts an arm around her shoulders, squeezes her hard. Christ, _married_. When Harry first met Aimee, they didn’t even know Ian. And now. Shit. Time fucking flies.

“I’ll get you a pressie. Big one. What d'you want, a car?”

Aimee cracks up. “Idiot. Actually I’d like an island.”

“Done,” Harry says, biting down a smile. “Well, at least let me get your drink.”

Aimee squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, Styles.”

“What’s it like, being married?”

“It’s - the same, mostly,” Aimee says, huffing a laugh. “Just very… official, I guess. Kinda weird. But the same.”

Harry nods, sliding a tenner across the bar and smiling at the bartender. “That’s so sick. Congratulations, Aims. Who would’ve thought, little Aimee PhiIIips-”

“Aww, shut up,” Aimee says, punching his shoulder, grinning. Harry sticks his tongue out, takes a gulp of his drink, laughing.

“How long have you been back?” she asks.

“Uhh, two days now. It was - yeah. Wednesday. Two days.”

She nods, sipping her vodka soda, and some little itch inside Harry makes him add, “I’ve been staying at Nick’s.”

Aimee looks at him, eyebrow arching. “ _Staying_ -staying?”

Harry laughs. “What’s that-”

She huffs. “You know what I mean.”

“Staying-staying, then. Yeah.” For a minute he feels good, a bit satisfied with himself. Nick might be fucking around with this pretty kid on the side, but when Harry’s in town, Nick opens his door and lets him in. That never goes away. That’s Harry’s, to keep.

Aimee looks down. “Huh.”

Something in her voice makes Harry abruptly guilty.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, giving him an absent kiss on the cheek and stepping back from the bar. “Just don’t be a dick, y'know? Remember why you stopped doing it in the first place.”

She gives him a rueful half-smile, and turns to go back to the booth. Harry stands there for a split-second, stricken, before he fumbles for his drink and follows her.

—

They leave after a couple more drinks. Harry feigns a headache, which isn’t really hard, and Nick looks sleepy anyway. He went to bed late, the night before. Harry could hear him whinging in the morning before work, staggering around his bedroom.

“Yeah, I’ll ring you tomorrow,” Nick says, giving Douglas a kiss on each cheek. “Fancy a spin next week?”

“Or a spoon?” Douglas asks, and they both snigger. Harry puts a hand low on Nick’s back, checking behind him to make sure no one’s watching.

“Grim?”

“Yeah, sorry, coming. Bye, everyone! I’ll see you, Booth. Be good.”

“Always am,” Douglas says, dimple winking in one cheek. “Really nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You too,” Harry says, smiling wide as Nick waves at the rest of the booth and turns away.

—

“He’s nice,” Harry says, when they’re in the back of a cab. Nick’s texting despite Harry’s hand on his leg.

“Yeah, he’s lovely,” Nick says distractedly. “Sorry, just. Duckie’s having a crisis of some sort with a boy.”

“Where is she now?”

“Christ, who knows. No, wait, I do know. She’s in New Mexico? I think? Or LA. Doing some video shoots.”

“Sick. Say hello from me.” Harry pats Nick’s thigh a few times and lets go. He bets Douglas doesn’t know everyone in Nick’s circle, all the assorted mates Nick’s gathered up from the different stages of his life. Harry got to know them a long time ago.  

He’s being stupid and petty, even if it’s just in his head. He’s fully aware of that, but he can’t bloody stop.

He fucks Nick on his back that night, Nick’s legs around his waist and his arms back, gripping the headboard tight above his head. Harry quite likes it that way. He can see Nick’s face, the hot flush on his cheeks. His open mouth. He can see exactly how gone Nick is from Harry’s cock inside him.

Nick doesn’t come during, so after Harry nuts off he crawls down between Nick’s legs and sucks his cock. Nick’s heavy and fat against his tongue, leaking slick from being fucked, flexing and hot. It’s been a while since Harry sucked dick, but he gives it his best effort, makes it messy. For Nick, he remembers, it’s just as much about the show as it is about the substance.

He can feel Nick’s eyes on him, and he lifts his head to meet them, keeping Nick’s cock on his bottom lip. Nick groans just at the sight.

“Hazza-”

Harry fumbles up with one hand to get Nick’s hand in his hair, and Nick fists a handful, tugs hard. Harry shudders, slides his mouth down again, jaw aching.

Nick lets out a rough sound above him, and Harry wishes, not for the first time, that there was some way he could suck Nick’s dick and watch Nick’s face closely at the same time. Maybe Nick could film himself, one time, and Harry could watch it on tour and wank off. They haven’t done that shite in _years_.

Harry gasps for breath, reaching to jerk Nick off with one hand, sucking hard at the tip until Nick chokes and spills come in Harry’s mouth. It’s more than Harry expected and he pulls off, gasping out a breath when another spurt lands on his chin and then on his neck.

“Sorry,” Nick gasps. “I- wow, sorry-”

Harry kneels up between Nick’s legs, wiping his hand over his face. He can taste Nick, smell him, and it’s making him shake. It’s making him want to fuck Nick again, right now. 

Shit, he’s hard again. How did that- shit.

“Haz,” Nick says, and Harry falls forward to kiss him. Nick lets Harry lick into his mouth, not even wincing at the taste of himself, and slides his hand down Harry’s back to his bum.

Harry whimpers without meaning to, grinds forward against Nick’s belly.

“Seriously?” Nick whispers, delighted. “You’re not a teenager anymore, popstar-”

Harry bites Nick’s bottom lip and Nick yelps.

“Can I-” he starts, and gets distracted by Nick’s fingers sliding between his arsecheeks. Oh, that’s - oh. “Gnhh, can I, um.”

“What,” Nick whispers. “Fuck me again? I’m quite old and tired now, Harold. Not always open for business like I used to be.”

Harry rolls his hips down, breathing hard. Nick’s still rubbing at his hole, gentle and dry, and it’s licking at the edges of Harry’s nerves, making him quiver.

“That what you think, is it?” Nick murmurs.

“N-no. No.”

Nick tucks Harry’s head into his neck and presses his hand to the small of Harry’s back, urges him into a slow grind against Nick’s stomach.

“How about,” he says, sounding steady. “If you’d like to get off again, you do it like this.”

“Like-”

“Like get yourself off however you bloody want as long as it’s not inside me,” Nick says, laughing into Harry’s ear.

Harry rocks his hips again. It’s like a game, or summat. Harry can play games.

“Will you help?”

“I won’t _hurt,_ ” Nick drawls, sounding amused.

“Will you- put your, uh, your-”

Nick reaches down for a handful of Harry’s arse and Harry groans. Yeah, yes, that’s what he meant-

“My fingers in you?”

“Please, N-nick.”

“Mm, s'pose I could. If you can find the lube.”

Harry may or may not have knocked the lube onto the floor earlier in his haste. He fumbles his way off Nick’s body to kneel and pick it up. His prick’s aching already, oversensitive and hard, bobbing between his legs.

“Wait,” Nick says softly, as Harry’s straightening up. He holds out a hand, and Harry goes red, shifting to his other foot.

“What?”

“Just-” Nick gives Harry a long slow once-over, from his face to his hard cock to his legs. “Christ.”

Harry ducks his head. Anyone else, he wouldn’t have to, it’s just. Nick. Nick’s attention always goes a bit further. Maybe it’s a holdover from the olden days, when Harry had never felt anything like how he felt about Nick. When all he wanted to do was make Nick laugh.

“Alright, carry on,“ Nick says, beckoning for him. "Hand me the lube.”

Harry hands it over, and gets back into bed.

—

He comes on Nick’s thighs, a hand around his dick and three of Nick’s fingers tucked deep in his arse, working inside him. Afterwards he slumps to the side, body humming, eyes already starting to close. Ahh, shit. That’s really bloody good.

“Oh, don’t just fall asleep,” Nick says, laughing hoarse in his throat. Harry blinks his eyes open for a minute just to watch Nick wiping come off his legs, nose wrinkling. Harry huffs a laugh.

“Bastard,” Nick mumbles, giving Harry a look.

Harry just groans happily, and flops fully onto his back, arms out. Mm, Nick’s bed. Mmmm, Nick’s fingers. He can still practically feel them, and his arse feels slick and stretched in a way it hasn’t in a long time. Took Harry ages to get used to, back when he and Nick started shagging.

Harry opens his eyes again, tips his head to the side to watch Nick.

“Grim?”

“Mmhm,” Nick says absently, grabbing for another tissue. “God, I need a shower-”

“You and that bloke,” Harry says, feeling stupid, asking it anyway. “Douglas. Are you, uh-”

Nick looks over at him, eyes gone wide. “Are we what?”

“Y'know.” Harry wiggles a hand in the air. “Shagging?”

Nick blinks at him, tosses the tissues into the bin. “Uhh. On and off, I guess.”

Harry exhales. Alright.

Nick goes quiet, rubbing a tissue over the palm of his hand.

“For how long?” Harry asks.

“I dunno, a couple months,” Nick says, voice low. “We’re just mates.”

Yeah, Harry’s heard that before. He and Nick were just mates once, just mates who got off together once in a while, and then every weekend, and then every day for a while until Harry had to leave.

“Thought he was straight,” Harry says.

Nick huffs a laugh that sounds fond. “Did you? I think he’s quite camp.”

“And you like that.”

Nick looks at him sharply. “I didn’t say that.”

“Do you fancy him?”

Nick’s eyes slide away and he laughs again, strained. “Christ, Harry. Why d'you want to know?”

“Cos I asked if you were seeing anyone. And now you’re saying you-”

“We’re not _seeing_ each other,” Nick says. “We were just fucking. _Are_ just fucking. I dunno. We just get on.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair.

“Is he out?” Harry asks, something hot in his throat.

Nick sniffs in, tosses the tissue away. “Oh, Harry, I don’t shag blokes who are out, that’d be too easy and painless, wouldn’t it.”

His voice is bitter, surprisingly so. Harry’s silent for a minute, watching him.

“He’s not out,” Nick mutters. “But he says he wants to. Just- just doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but he doesn’t mind. He’s, like, very not LA. Wants to stay in London and do theater, he’s not interested in the whole Hollywood thing.”

Harry’s stomach clenches. “That must be nice. Wow.”

Nick sighs. “Harry-”

“No, that’s _great._ ”

“God, we’re not even - why are you being such a dick?”

Harry swallows hard. He doesn’t really know.

“I’m gonna shower,” Nick says. “Stop being weird when I get out, alright?”

Harry nods, slowly, not looking at him.

The shower flicks on a minute later, and the en-suite door closes.

Harry sits up, exhaling hard. He doesn’t know why he’s being such a dick, or why it matters if Nick’s fucking some up-and-coming actor with a gorgeous face who wants to live in London and do _theater_. Harry’s not jealous, because he doesn’t get jealous. Jealousy is for people who are insecure in what they have, and Harry’s not-

He chokes out a breath, rolls out of bed and grabs one of Nick’s t-shirts, shoving it over his head. Maybe he’ll just go home. Maybe it was stupid, to do all this. It’s like Aimee said, earlier. _Remember why you stopped doing it in the first place._

Harry fumbles for his jeans, hopping into them and zipping them up. If he gets all his shit together before Nick’s out of the shower, he can just- go back to his, pretend this didn’t happen. Pretend he didn’t drag Nick right back into the middle of everything.

He’s reaching for his wallet when the shower turns off, and he freezes, heart pounding. Shit. He should either get back in bed or sprint out the door, but before he can do either, the door opens, and Nick emerges in a cloud of steam, holding a towel around his waist with one hand.

“Haz?” he says, yawning, and he stops dead. “Are you leaving?”

“I, uh,” Harry says. “I was just gonna-”

“Leave,” Nick finishes softly. “While I was in the shower. Well. I finally feel like a real groupie.”

“Nick, that’s not what I-” Harry’s throat hurts and he can’t finish. He swallows hard and tries again. “I’m just- I’m, like, I dunno. I feel- not good. I don’t feel good. About-”

Shit. Shit. He puts a hand over his face, and Nick’s expression changes, softens, eyes widening.

“Harry-”

“I’m sorry,” Harry chokes out, stumbling back to sit on the bed. His heart’s pounding, and for a minute he’s scared he’ll have a panic attack, though he’s never before. Niall did, last week, before the show in Cape Town. He shut himself in a dressing room, locked the door, and everyone just pretended they couldn’t hear him wheezing. Harry tore a hole in the hem of his t-shirt, worrying at it with his fingernails.

“You alright, mate?” Harry had said on stage afterward, between songs, as Niall stooped over to fetch his water bottle. Niall had smiled at him blankly, squeezed his shoulder and turned away.

Nick sinks onto the bed next to him, puts a damp arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, god, love. Love.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles.

“Why’re you sorry? Don’t be- don’t be silly, there’s nothing to be-”

Harry sobs so hard it comes out silent, his back heaving, and Nick puts both arms around him.

“Harry,” he says, sounding terrified. “Oh. Sh-sh. It’s alright.”

Harry can’t. He fucking can’t. He puts his face into Nick’s neck, wet from the shower and flushed with heat, and Nick squeezes him hard.

“Haz.”

Harry shakes his head, choking out a sob against Nick’s collarbone. Nick goes quiet, holds him tighter.

It’s a long while before he can lift his head again. Each time he thinks it’s over it keeps hitting him, like grief, a punch in the gut. He’s not even sure why. Zayn, of course, the weird emptiness of it now, how Harry keeps looking for him on stage and not finding him. But it’s not just that. Harry feels heavy. He’s scared. Every time he thinks about how scared he feels he starts crying again.

Nick stays right there, quiet and close. It makes Harry even more fearful, how quiet Nick’s being. It must be serious. Harry must be really fucking mental if Nick’s keeping his mouth shut. 

When he pulls away Nick’s skin is wet with tears and snot, and Harry chokes out a laugh.

“Sorry,” he says thickly. “You just showered.”

“Disgusting, you are,” Nick says, but his voice is soft. “God, you needed that, huh?”

Harry sniffles, reaches over for a few tissues and dabs at Nick’s neck.

“You miss him,” Nick says, as Harry cleans him off.

“I miss when he was happier,” Harry says, voice hoarse. He hasn’t said that out loud. “Like, I miss us all, I dunno. When it felt, like. More real.”

Nick sighs. “Oh love.”

“I know that’s stupid-”

“God, no it’s not. It’s just, like. It’s still real. It is. This just happens, Harry, people move on. Want other things. You’re no good at having your heart broken, are you.”

Harry ignores that, coughs out a breath, and Nick runs his hand down his back. Harry inhales slowly. “It’s like - it’s like this part I’m okay with, and the future bit, where we’re not - not, you know. A band anymore. I’m not stupid, I know it’s going to- to happen. I just, like, I hate not knowing. I fucking hate not knowing when, or like, what’s going to happen.”

Nick nods, slow.

“Remember my last nighttime show?” he says, stroking his hand over Harry’s hair. “When I got really really pissed after, and we went back to mine, and I was, like, crying and puking, all that. Kept whinging about how I was gonna be sacked after a week on Breakfast.”

Harry chokes out a laugh. It’s not funny, except it is a bit, now. It was funny about three days later, honestly. Nick’s got a quick turnaround time, of tragedy to laughter. Harry envies it sometimes.

“I was so scared,” Nick whispers. “I was so bloody scared of something ending. Because, like, you know that thing, and then the new thing is scary and it could be awful, and it all feels like such a mess.”

He huffs a laugh.

“God. The hell do I know, honestly. But it’ll pass, alright? You’ll figure it out. Won’t feel so scary. It’s just the now-part that’s shit.”

“I want-” Harry stops, because he’s not sure. He wants so many things still. Sometimes he scares himself, with how much he wants things. The screaming at the shows, god, it feels so good. He can’t admit it out loud except in interviews, stale standard answers of how much he loves the fans.

No one bloody knows how much he means it.

He sucks in a shaky breath.

“What?” Nick says quietly.

Nick doesn’t get it. Nick likes a bit of attention, he likes people knowing his name, but he’s not as greedy and terrible as Harry is. He doesn’t want _everyone_. He doesn’t want the whole world.

Harry sniffs in, shakes his head. “N-nothing.”

“You want… a cup of tea? You want… to get out of my flat cos you hate me? You want…”

Harry snuffles out a laugh. “Stoppit. Cup of tea, though, I could go for that.”

Nick rakes his fingers through Harry’s hair, grips and tugs his head back until Harry’s looking at him. Harry blinks, watery-eyed. Sniffs in hard.

“You’re alright,” Nick says quietly. “You’re still, like, you. Harry. Don’t forget that. You’re still the idiot who tripped over my dishwasher once and bruised your stupid popstar forehead.”

Harry laughs hoarsely as Nick kisses his stupid popstar forehead. 

“You’re still,” Nick says, pulling back, eyes lighting up, getting into it now. “The supposed heartthrob who once spent two hours at a birthday party trying to pull Daisy Lowe and failing _miserably_.”

“Heyy,” Harry protests. “I didn’t fail.”

“Did you go home with her?”

“Nah, went home with you,” Harry says, mouth curving up. “So I didn’t fail.”

Nick rolls his eyes, mouth working like he’s trying to hold back a grin. “Oh shut up.”

He lets go of Harry’s hair, squeezes his shoulder. “Tea?”

“Tea,” Harry echoes.

“Lemme wash your mucus off my chest, _ew_ , and get some pyjamas on. You’re alright, aren’t you? Not gonna run out the door as soon as I leave?”

Harry rubs his wrist over his nose. “I’m fine.”

“Kay. Don’t move.” Nick presses a kiss against his temple, quick and light.

Harry hears the toilet door shut again, and he grabs for a tissue, blows his nose, swallows hard. It’s not true, is it - that it’ll be alright. Harry loves Nick, but Nick doesn’t know - how big it is. How big it all feels. Nick’s got no idea. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written april 2015 
> 
> part 4/4.

They get in to Budapest late, go for dinner at a place down the street from the hotel. Nick has a chicken kebab and a load of Pixie’s hummus and a bit of salad. They split two bottles of wine among them, and end up giggly, mostly drunk, stumbling up to the rooftop to take photos and ooh and ahh at the view of the city.

Douglas kisses him on the side of his mouth, when Nick’s trying to pick a filter for his blurry skyline photo.

“Hi,” Nick says, distractedly.

“Hi,” Douglas says, quietly. “Fancy going down to bed?”

Nick looks over at him, and Douglas blinks at him, all doe-eyed. He really is remarkably innocent when he wants to be.

“I do fancy that,” Nick says, thumbing a piece of fluff off Douglas’ cheekbone. “Sounds perfect.”

He’s going to, too, except then Pixie stumbles over with another bottle of wine and makes them sit down, on soft chaise lounges gathered around a firepit right there on the roof, wind blowing gently. Nick drinks more, and laughs at what seems like an endless stream of Coachella photos. Arlo crawling around in the mud like a true festival baby. Daisy on Florence’s lap. Pixie and Daisy in a glittery blue pool, giggling. Nick takes Daisy’s phone and starts scrolling, looking up bemusedly when Daisy snatches it back.

“Don’t,” she says, blushing a little. “Uhh. Look at Pix’s phone, she took better photos than me anyway.”

Nick narrows his eyes at her. “What, have you got _dirty_ photos on there, Lowe? Show me, show me, you know I love a good tit shot!”

“Shut it,” Daisy says firmly, tapping the phone til it goes black.

“Daaaize,” Nick whines. Wow, he is quite drunk. “Lemme see.”

“Wait. _Wait_. Oh _god_ , Daize, you didn’t,” Pixie says suddenly, eyes lighting up, and Daisy buries her face in her hands.

“What?” Douglas asks from next to Nick.

“I didn’t do anything!” Daisy giggles.

“She probably took a - _gimme that_ , Lowe,” Pixie says, wrestling the phone out of Daisy’s hands. Daisy squeals and tries to grab it back. “She - probably -”

“Pix! Don’t!”

“Oh my _god_!” Pixie yelps, thumbing furiously through Daisy’s photos. “You trashbag!”

“What?” Nick says, eyes lighting up. “Lemme see-”

“Oh my god, it’s so _artsy,_ too,” Pixie says. “The _angle_.”

Nick reaches out - one advantage of long arms - and snatches the phone out of Pixie’s hands. Daisy’s given up by now, hands over her face.

“Ooh, hot,” he says, at the first photo he sees, which is Daisy’s bare breasts, her nipples hard. “Very naughty, Lowe-”

He scrolls, and stops, heart giving an unexpected heavy thud in his chest. It’s a photo of - of - Nick squints at it. Daisy’s thighs, and a man’s torso beneath her, hips and stomach and chest-

“Daisy, if anyone got hold of those he’d be _screwed_ ,” Pixie’s laughing, and Nick’s holding his breath because the man in the photo is Harry.

He can see the laurels, and the butterfly, and the swallows, familiar as the back of Nick’s hand. The dark trail of hair low on Harry’s belly, the cut of his abs. Daisy’s pale smooth thighs straddling his tan waist.

“Nick, stoppit, you pervert,” Daisy says, sliding the phone out of Nick’s slack hand, her face bright red. “He’s the one who wanted me to take photos, anyway, _Pixie_.”

Nick can’t breathe. He laughs, sounding slightly hysterical.

“Wow, Daisy.”

“What was this awful photo you’ve gone all red about?” Gillian says politely, sipping her wine.

“Only a dirty photo of Harry Styles,” Pixie cackles, too loud, and Daisy shushes her, just as Gillian makes eye contact with Nick for a brief shuddering moment. Nick looks down quickly.

Gillian’s the only one who knows. Well - Aimee, and Ian, and Matt, weirdly. Henry. Collette. But- but of the people around the table, Gillian’s the only one who-

“Nice work, Daisy,” Douglas comments, laughing. “He’s fit.”

“While in California, right,” Nick says numbly.

“You’re all disgusting,” Daisy says, flushed, pleased with herself. She shakes her fringe back from her face. “ _Anyway_. Can we please move on?”

—

“Did you and Harry used to, like,” Douglas says slowly. Nick looks up from his phone. Douglas is propped up against the headboard, hair a mess and face slack from wine and being fucked, looking at Nick curiously. “Y'know. Did you used to have sex?”

Nick considers it. He looks back down at his phone.

“That’s a bit, like, his business,” he says, mildly.

Douglas huffs out a breath. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Still-”

“Still _what_? God, don’t be so coy, Nick. It’s not like I’d care.”

“But, like. Think of someone asked about - about you, you wouldn’t want me to go talking about you, would you?”

“I wouldn’t care,” Douglas says. “If you trusted the person. I’m not hiding anything.”

Nick snorts without meaning to, and Douglas’ eyes sharpen angrily.

“I’m _not_.”

“No, no, I know,” Nick says hastily, and then, because he’s an arsehole - “No one knows you like cock, though, do they?”

“Cos they haven’t asked,” Douglas says, low in his throat. “Cos I don’t go around talking about my personal life. I’m not hiding who I a- what, what I like.”

Nick nearly laughs again. Nice catch, there, Booth.

“Were you in love with him?”

Nick laughs for real this time, a reflexive response. “God. What’s this, twenty questions?”

“Were you?”

“No.” Nick clears his throat. “No, I wasn’t.”

Douglas watches him, looking almost disappointed by the answer.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” he asks, and it comes out tinged with bitterness. Nick’s breath catches hard.

“That’s a bit rude,” he says, voice clipped.

“I didn’t mean it in a rude way. I’m asking you honestly.”

“Of course I’ve bloody loved people. I’m not a sociopath.”

Douglas raises an eyebrow, like, _go on_. Nick feels queasy.

“What d'you want, a comprehensive history of who I’ve fancied?”

“I’m just wondering if it’s the same for everyone you sleep with,” Douglas says, voice cool. “If they all feel the same as me.”

“And how do you feel, Booth?”

“Like you don’t really care,” Douglas says, casual and easy. He’s watching Nick. “Like it means nothing to you.”

Nick’s throat tightens and he has to fight to swallow. “You’re a fucking arsehole.”

“Am I?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Tell me it means something to you, then,” Douglas says, a challenge in his voice. “Tell me I mean something to you.”

“What is this, a fucking romance film?”

“No, it’s a real life bloody relationship,” Douglas hisses. “It’s you and me having shagged for six fucking months and me not having fucked anyone else. It’s me being on bloody holiday with your bloody _cunting_ friends.”

“Impressive cursing, Booth, didn’t know you had it in you-”

“Tell me, Nick. Or tell me it’s just sex and you don’t give a shit. Either one.”

Nick rolls off the bed, cupping a hand over his prick. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“Bloody hell,” Douglas says, with a rough laugh. “I can’t believe you’re running away right now.”

“I’m not running away,” Nick mutters, even as he pulls his boxers on. “I’m just putting my clothes on.”

“Nick,” Douglas says, throaty and plaintive. “I like you. I really like you.”

“I like you too,” Nick says. That’s not the _problem_. Nick likes a lot of people. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I didn’t like you.”

“I’m asking if you want a boyfriend.” Douglas sucks in a shaky breath. So _dramatic_ , he is. Such an actor. “I’m asking if you want me for real.”

What Nick wants is about three glasses of water and a long sleep.

He shrugs his shirt on, starts doing up the buttons.

“Nick,” Douglas chokes out.

“I- I dunno, alright?” Nick snaps. “I don’t know what I want. Sorry to be such a bloody disappointment. Not running around confessing my love for people like it’s Corrie or summat.”

Douglas stares at him, eyes huge.

“I can’t keep just sleeping with you,” he says. “Because I fancy you too much. And if you don’t want me the same way-”

“Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

Nick’s heart is pounding and he’s not sure why. He just _hates_ this. He thought it’d be the easiest thing, to take Douglas along on hols with him, relax a bit. And now it’s gone to shit.

“Maybe,” Douglas says. “Maybe I am.”

“That’s a bit fucked,” Nick says harshly. “I just want to- to have a good weekend, alright? Can we just-”

“Oh, sorry to ruin your buzz, Nick.” His voice is like acid.

“I don’t want to fight. See, this is why I don’t like - all this stuff. Relationships. Always bloody fighting.”

Douglas shakes his head.

“You’re so fucked up,” he says, wobbly. “You’re thirty, you know that, Nick? You’re thirty years old and you’re scared of being in a relationship.”

“I’m not scared of it. Just don’t _want_ it, that’s not the same as being scared-”

“Oh,” Douglas interrupts loudly. “Alright. So there’s my answer. You don’t want this.”

“I don’t - I meant, like, a proper relationship, Douglas!”

“Yeah, me too!” Douglas shouts. 

Nick stares at him, and then Douglas looks away, swiping a hand over his nose, and starts to fumble for his clothes.

“Fuck it,” he says. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

“ _Douglas_. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I can’t - I can’t, Nick. I can’t.”

“Just stay here, alright,” Nick says desperately. “I’ll- I’ll sleep with Gellz or summat. You don’t have to leave.”

Douglas looks up, and oh, Christ, his eyes are all red around the edges. God.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says, even though he’s not sure what for exactly.

Douglas laughs sourly. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I- I don’t actually enjoy seeing you upset, you know that, right?”

“You haven’t made me upset,” Douglas says defiantly, scrubbing his wrist over his nose again. “I’m fine.”

Nick sighs. “Fine.”

Douglas watches him, his pants dangling from one hand, unashamedly naked.

“Did you do this to Harry too?” he asks. “Tell him you just didn’t like relationships?”

The laugh that comes out of Nick is awful and bitter, dredged up from his chest. It makes his eyes prickle.  

“Never quite got that far,” he says, instead of _he left me. He left me. I didn’t ever need to say no because he said it first._

“Lucky Harry,” Douglas says, his teeth bared.

Nick clenches his jaw so hard it sends a twinge of pain through his head, grabs for his phone and his keys. He’s done with this. Maybe he’s an arsehole, but that doesn’t mean he has to stay and be Douglas’ fucking punching bag.

He shoves the door open, lets it slam shut. The hallway’s empty and quiet, and he goes two doors down, smacks the flat of his hand against the wood.

It opens after four more open-handed knocks. Gillian squints at him exhaustedly. “What?”

“I need to stay with you.”

“What?”

Nick slips past her. “I need to sleep here tonight.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Nick kicks off his shoes. Crawls into Gillian’s bed, all warm from where she was undoubtedly just sleeping. “We had a fight.”

“You and Douglas?” Gillian says hoarsely. She coughs into her elbow, nudges Nick aside and gets in bed next to him.

“Yeah.” Nick puts his face against the pillow.

“Shit. I’m sorry, babe.”

Nick’s chest is clenching and he feels a bit like he wants to cry, but the awful thing is, it’s not about Douglas. He doesn’t want to cry about Douglas.

Gillian rubs his back gently. “You want to talk about it?”

Nick swallows, and turns his head.

“Do you think I was in love with Harry?” he asks, voice small.

Gillian peers at him. “ _What_?”

Nick feels abruptly stupid. He needs to know, though. If it’s obvious. If it was a thing.

“Do you?”

“Why’re you - did you two fight about Harry?”

“No. Not- well. Not really.”

“What about, then?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just - do you think I was- in love. Or whatever.”

Gillian looks at him softly, hand going still on his back.

“Think you felt strongly about him,” she says. “I dunno if you want to call that love.”

What a non-answer. Nick lets out a long breath.

“Do you think you were in love with him?” Gillian asks, looking fearful of the answer.

Oh god, Nick does. He really does sometimes. He thinks maybe he’s never felt anything like what he did for Harry.

His throat’s so tight he can’t swallow.

“Nick.”

“I dunno,” Nick says. It comes out choked. “Douglas bloody hates me.”

Gillian looks nonplussed at the subject change, but she recovers quickly, murmurs, “He does not hate you.”

“He does. He said I’m fucked up. Scared of relationships.”

Gillian sighs.

“Has he fallen for you, then, Grim?” she asks quietly. “And you’re freaking out?”

“He said he can’t just keep sleeping with me if I don’t feel the same way.”

Gillian sighs again. “Well-”

“And he said I don’t know how to love anyone,” Nick says, voice choked. “He said I make him feel like I don’t- like I don’t care.”

Gillian strokes his back. “Babe.”

Nick falls silent, lets out a heavy breath.

“He’s just angry, you know that,” Gillian says after a minute. “He doesn’t mean it.”

“He meant it, Gellz.”

“I mean, he meant it, but it doesn’t make it true.”

“I care about him. I do. Why’s it have to be so, like. Serious?”

Gillian sighs. She always sighs a lot when they talk. Nick should maybe work on that.

“You can’t blame him for having feelings for you, Grims. You don’t have to feel it back but you’ve got to let him, like, pull away if he needs to.”

“It’s so _stupid_ ,” Nick says. “Look at his _face_ , Gellz. And he’s all bothered by me. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Shut it,” Gillian says, smacking his arse lightly. “You’ve got to stop being surprised by people falling in love with you. It’s not cute anymore.”

“He’s not in love.”

“He might be.”

“Well he _shouldn’t_ be,” Nick mutters.

“Ughhh, Grim. What did I _just say_.”

Nick puts his face back into the pillow.

He’s thinking about Harry, again, helplessly. Whether that was love. Because Nick liked Harry, quite a lot, he’d admit that in a heartbeat. They got on well. Nick never got bored, and he never wanted Harry to just fuck off for a while and let Nick alone.

He was just really, really bloody happy. Shit.  

Gillian rubs his shoulder. “I’m going to sleep, alright?”

“Yeah,” Nick mumbles.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” He fumbles to grab her hand, gives it a squeeze. “Sorry for taking over your bed.”

“It’s alright. Go to sleep, alright, you can figure it out tomorrow.”

She falls asleep fast, her breath settling slow and even.

Nick lies there for a long while. The room’s too bright, moon peeking through the open sliver in the curtains.

Finally he gives in and grabs his phone.

Nothing on Instagram. Nothing interesting on Twitter.

He thinks about sending a message to Douglas. Apologizing, for - what? For not being in love? Nick shouldn’t have to apologize for not being in love. That’s stupid.

He flicks back to Instagram, scrolls and scrolls. Daisy posted a photo of herself holding a wine glass, a few hours ago, Pixie sticking her tongue out in the side of the photo. Daisy’s smiling, draped in a sparkling jacket, head tilted, and her tits look incredible. Nick swallows down the sourness at the back of his throat.

He doesn’t quite get what he’s feeling. Cos he’s jealous, helplessly, and at the same time he just wants Harry to be happy. He just wants Harry to be well-fucked and fucking satisfied in his stupid popstar life. He deserves it.

It feels - selfless or summat. Nick’s not used to feeling selfless.

Not that selfless, though, because the next thing he does is open a new text and put in Harry’s name.

_Hiii Styles. Long time no chat. You been good? Comin back to LDN anytime soon?_

He debates putting a kiss. Decides not to.

He hits send, and rolls onto his back.

Twenty minutes later there’s no response and he still can’t sleep, so he gets out of bed. Kicks on his shoes, grabs his room key and shuts Gillian’s door gently behind him.

Douglas is sleeping, curled up in a mess of cream-white duvet, pretty pink mouth half-open. Nick stands next to the bed and watches him, his heart doing funny things in his chest.

He likes Douglas very much. Likes his sense of humor, the way he laughs at all of Nick’s jokes, how he takes his job quite seriously. And his face, Christ, of course Nick likes his face.

But, god. _Boyfriend_. Nick swallows hard, and gets into bed.

Douglas wakes up, groans softly. “Grim?”

“Yeah,” Nick says, cuddling up behind him, curling a hand around Douglas’ belly to pull him closer. “Shh. I’m sorry.”

Douglas puts his hand over Nick’s on his stomach, and for a minute Nick thinks he’s going to shove him away.

But instead he sighs. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick says again into Douglas’ hair. It’s true, though maybe not for the reasons Douglas thinks. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, y'are,” Douglas murmurs sleepily. “Sleeping now.”

Nick kisses the back of his neck and shuts his eyes.

—

He wakes up bleary-eyed and tired to two texts from Harry.

_Hi grim. I’m well, how are you?_

_I may be back in London before tour starts. I’ll let you know. Xx_

Nick stares at it, trying to ignore the sinking in his stomach. He fumbles his hand out of the duvet, types with his phone above his head.

_Im good Harry thanks! Sounds good. x_

Fake. Fake fake fake. Nick’s a bloody coward sometimes.

Harry texts back in about two minutes flat, which is rare.

_Heard about fincham working on Annie’s show. Going to be strange to do the show without him I bet._

Nick chews his lip. How’d Harry even hear about that? Twitter, Nick supposes, though he always pictures Harry as above all that shite nowadays. Just doing yoga and drinking juices and fucking Daisy.

_Yeaa I’ll miss little finchy. Been around since the very beginning hasn’t he!_

He wants to put a crying emoji, except Harry doesn’t like emojis. He hits Send and feels weirdly unfinished.

Douglas’ still sleeping, eyes scrunched up sweetly. Nick peers over at him, and then his phone buzzes again, and he grabs it eagerly.

_Yeah. For ages. It’s weird isn’t it. When people leave_

Nick lets out a wobbly breath. Yeah, Harry. You fucking idiot. It is weird when people leave.

He startles when he feels a hand on his hip, sliding around to stroke his stomach.

“Hi,” Douglas murmurs. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Nick says, turning his phone screen off, setting it on the nightstand. He rolls over to face Douglas, who’s all soft-eyed and drowsy, and Douglas smiles slowly, dimple denting one cheek.

“Morning,” he repeats. “Idiot.”

“Hoped you’d forgotten last night,” Nick says. “You had enough wine to knock out an elephant, so-”

“Bastard,” Douglas says, but he’s laughing, and then he’s leaning in to press a kiss against Nick’s neck, and his chest, and then his stomach. Nick tenses up for a moment, breath catching, until Douglas looks up from where he’s hovering over Nick’s belly, eyes dark.

“Nick?”

“Yeah,” Nick breathes. “Go on. God, you’re gorgeous.”

Douglas smiles, and tugs Nick’s boxers down over the heavy weight of his morning wood. He lets the head rest on his bottom lip, breathes out hotly, and Nick fumbles for a pillow so he can see better, stomach clenching hotly.

“Oh, you’re lovely,” he says softly, because Douglas loves to be talked to. “Look at you down there.”

Douglas’ eyes flutter shut as he licks the slit, tongue soft and wet. Nick runs a hand into his hair. He has the sudden urge to say sorry - for the night before, for everything - but he holds it back.

“There you go,” he says, when Douglas slides his lush mouth down over Nick’s cock, cheeks hollowing to fit him in. “Ohh, god, love, that’s so good-”

Douglas moans around the width of it, bobs his head, and Nick can’t keep his eyes open.

His mind won’t stop racing, though. From Douglas to Daisy to Matt to Harry, which brings him to the time Matt nearly caught Harry on his knees in a supply closet, sucking Nick off. They’d managed to hold the door shut until Matt thought it was jammed and wandered off complaining, and then Harry had grinned up at him, his wide green eyes gleaming, and lowered his head again. God, Nick’s heart was pounding then, and he couldn’t stop laughing, not even when he came and Harry swallowed, shuffling forward on his knees to take it greedily the way he always did.

Nick’s _sad_. Fuck, he’s sad, and then Douglas pushes his tongue against the underside of Nick’s cock, again and again, and Nick can feel the rush in blood that means he’s close to coming. His breathing feels rough and jagged, something like a sob pressing down in his chest.

“Gonna - gonna come,” he manages to gasp, and Douglas pulls off, wanking Nick furiously, and Nick groans as he spills hot, dick jerking in thick pulses.

He opens his eyes, sees come on Douglas’ cheeks and his soft mouth, white on flushed skin, and it’s so hot, so dirty, it does make him sob. He chokes on it, tries to pass it off as a moan of pleasure.

Douglas’ staring up at him, breathing hard.

“Nick,” he says hoarsely, and Nick can see his hand sneaking between his legs.

“C'mere,” Nick says. His eyes are wet and he blinks furiously to hide it. “C'mere, c'mere-” and he’s pulling Douglas up, laying him flat on his back, crawling down between his legs to suck his cock.

His throat hurts. Douglas tastes good, salty and thick, and he moans perfectly, sweetly. He’s so responsive. Nick loves to suck him off. He loves Douglas’ prick. His eyes are still leaking, which is awful, so he squeezes them shut and focuses on the task at hand.

Douglas comes with a whimper and Nick swallows around him, pressing down Douglas’ trembling hips as they twitch upwards, cock pulsing.

He sits up, shaking. Jesus. Why the fuck does he feel so weird? The wine, maybe, after weeks of not drinking. Must be the wine.

“Grim,” Douglas says, rough and fucked-out.

“Yeah,” Nick breathes back. “I, uh. I need a shower.”

He rolls out of bed, makes it halfway to the toilet before he gets a strange paranoid clench that Douglas will find his phone and read his texts. He turns around.

Douglas looks up at him from bed. He’s wiping his face with a tissue. “Grim?”

“Yeah,” Nick repeats. “Soz.”

“You want company?” Douglas asks, cracking a dirty smile.

_No thank you_ , Nick wants to say, but instead he laughs easily and turns away.

Douglas doesn’t join him. Nick showers for a long time, and when he comes out Douglas is gone.

_Down at breakfast w/ Daisy_ , says a note on top of Nick’s phone. Nick crumples it up in one hand and drops it in the bin.


End file.
